Terror From The Dark
by NarFolr
Summary: Sam is seeing something, but can Dean trust that it is real? Or is Sam merely working through some Hell induced night terrors? Set mid season 7. Hurt!Sam Limp!Sam Protective!Dean Comfort!Dean
1. Chapter 1

Title: Terror From The Dark

Summary: Sam is seeing something, but can Dean trust that it is real? Or is Sam merely working through some Hell induced night terrors? Set mid season 7.

Rating: M - for scary and maybe a little gory!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters therein. Sad life.

Warnings: Some parts of this might get a little graphic. I love me some whumpage on the boys, the more gory the more glory!

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at fanfic. Feedback is very much appreciated! I didn't have it beta read, so I hope there are little to no mistakes. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Terror From The Dark

The motel was typical for the Winchesters, a little on the run down side. Coffee stains, along with other miscellaneous fluids, adding a bit of panache to the drudgery of the faded green carpet, any cushioning worn flat years ago. Dean enters first, always taking the fore position when entering a new situation even if there is no apparent danger. It was a habit. Always looking out for his forever baby brother. Sam comes in next, carrying their bags and unceremoniously tossing them onto their designated beds. Dean always took the bed closest to the door. Again, a protective habit developed over the years.

Sam moves over to his bed, a slight limp in his step. He tosses his bag down as well and flops onto the bed himself, laying facedown with his face in the course fabric of the taupe top cover. He lets out a sigh of contentment. It always feels good after a long day of hunting to pass out in bed for the night. His reprieve is short lived though. Dean picks the first aid kit from his bag and moves over to Sam's bed.

"Dude, why don't you sit up for a 'sec and let me patch up that arm of yours before you bleed all over the covers?" Dean says, tossing the kit onto the blanket next to his brother's prone figure and popping the lid. Sam sighs. He always hated this part of the after hunt ritual. When injuries occurred, which was more often than not, it was best to take care of them as soon as the brothers got into their hotel room for the night. He turns his head to face Dean and eyeballs the surgical thread and needle his brother was removing from the kit.

"It's not that serious, Dean. I don't need any stitches. Really, it's just a few cuts..." Sam starts and Dean gives him a smirk. "Quit being a baby, Sam. It'll just take a second. Let's get you cleaned up and then you can try to get some sleep."

Sam huffs and sits up on the bed, swinging his long legs over the side and takes off his jacket. He glances down at his right bicep and sees the blood already starting to seep through the makeshift bandages Dean had temporarily wound around his arm. Maybe the cuts were a little deeper than Sam had originally realized. Dean goes into the bathroom and comes back out with a wet washcloth while Sam carefully unwraps his arm.

Dean starts cleaning up the blood and dirt from the wound and Sam winces and hisses, the stinging nerves in his abused skin coming to life as his brother disturbs the tender tears in his flesh. "Sorry." Dean quickly apologizes. He cleans as gently as he can, next grabbing the saline solution and squirting it into the wound, letting out a slow whistle as the blood washed away. "Dang, that skin walker really took a chunk outt'a you." Sam looks down and sees the three huge gashes running diagonally across his arm. "Huh." Is all Sam says. This might take longer than he had hoped. Dean threads his needle and gets to work.

He pushes the needle and thread through Sam's skin, his practiced hands steady as they draw the flesh back together in neat sutures, working down each wound as Sam concentrates on other things, occasionally letting out a hiss and an uncomfortable squirm as he felt the pinch and pull of the needle and thread. After about half an hour of biting his lip, Sam lets out another sigh of relief as Dean cuts the thread from his final suture.

"Alright, Sammy, we are done here. Let's just get this wrapped up and you're good to pass out." Dean says as he fishes out white bandages and tenderly wraps Sam's arm. After taping it securely Dean smiles to himself. No matter what anybody says, Sam was one tough son of a bitch. All those stitches, no anesthetic, and hardly a peep from him. He was proud of his little brother.

Dean stands up and gathers up his first aid supplies and puts the kit back into his bag. He pulls the salt out and goes about securing the motel room with salt lines at every window and door while Sam gingerly pulls off his shoes and strips out of his jeans. He pushes the covers back on his bed and crawls in. Exhausted, he lays his head down and closes his eyes. Maybe Lucifer will leave him alone tonight.

Dean watches Sam out of the corner of his eye as he lays down the salt lines. His constant concern as of late being Sam's mental status in regards to his concept of what was real and what were the disturbing delusions put forth by the Devil in Sam's mind. Sam seemed to be holding up well, the scar on his left palm an anchor; a constant reminder of the pain of this physical world. Dean grabs some clean boxers and sweat pants from the duffel on his bed and heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and stripping off his clothes. He turns on the shower and lets the hot water wash away the dirt and grime from the day's hunt.

Tossing in bed, Sam tries to get comfortable. His arm throbs as he rolls onto his left side, his back towards the door that his brother just disappeared into. He closes his eyes and listens to the shower start up. The shower curtain rings give out a screech as they slide over the curtain rod when Dean slides the curtain shut. He concentrates on his own breathing and tries to relax his muscles, hoping to drift off to sleep. Heaven knows he could use a good night's rest. As the world calms around him and his mind starts to wander, he hears it. A scratching noise.

Ever so faint, like slow footsteps coming from the far corner of the room. Sam's eyes snap open. He lays completely still and stares towards the corner of the room, looking for the source of the noise. He sees nothing. No movement in the faint light of the motel lamp. No shadows fleeting on the walls. But still a slow shuffle, growing louder and closer to where he lays. Sam's duffel is laying at the foot of his bed. If he's fast enough, he can grab out his pistol. His muscles tense up, and he pauses. The scratching gets closer. It's right there, almost at the foot of his bed. Sam sits up quickly, not caring as his sudden movements pull uncomfortably at his fresh stitches. His hand dives directly into his duffel, wrapping his fingers around the cold grip of his pistol. He jerks it out and aims towards the source of the noise and the scratching stops suddenly.

The bathroom door flies open, a puff of steam swirling out as Dean steps back into the room, vigorously running a towel over his hair. He stops mid motion as he observes the scene before him. Sammy in bed, holding his gun out towards the empty area in the motel room. Pointing at nothing. At least nothing Dean can see... Dean feels his heart sink, his mind flashing back to the scene at the warehouse when Sam almost shot him, not knowing what was real and what was illusion. Maybe Sam isn't doing as well as he had hoped.

Dean clears his throat. Sam snaps his gaze in Dean's direction and suddenly realizes what this must look like. He breaks eye contact with Dean, removes his finger from the trigger and lowers his gun slowly. "I, uh..." Sam struggles to save face. He lets out a sigh. "I heard something. At least, I thought I did." He says sullenly. He pauses, listening to the silence in the room. No scratching. He feels like an idiot. He let Dean down in a momentary lapse of judgment. "Sorry." He apologizes, then reluctantly sets the gun down on the night stand between the two twin beds.

"Hey, you've had a long day. You're probably just tired and suffering from more blood loss than a double donation to the Red Cross. You didn't even get a sugar cookie." Dean offers, trying to console Sam and diffuse the awkward situation. "Maybe a little hallucination is normal... Just try to get some sleep. I'll be here, so there's nothing to worry about. I won't let anything happen to you." Dean manages a reassuring smile and Sam nods, still reluctant to make eye contact.

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'll just try to get some shut eye..." Sam concedes, and then lays back down, his back facing Dean once again and covers himself up with the blanket. He can already feel his hurt arm getting stiff. He hopes his stupid slip up didn't manage to tear any stitches. That would just make him feel worse, ruining Dean's neat suture work. He closes his eyes again and listens as Dean finishes his nightly routine, double checking the salt lines and making sure the door and windows are locked. Dean eventually crawls into his own bed and Sam hears the click of the lamp turning off. The room goes dark and to Sam's relief the only noises to be heard are the sounds of his and Dean's own breathing.

In the corner, it watches. These two aren't the usual kind of people it encounters. They know things. They are aware. They are dangerous.

This could be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Sam is seeing something, but can Dean trust that it is real? Or is Sam merely working through some Hell induced night terrors? Set mid season 7.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, so please don't sue. You'll get nothing!

Author's Note: This chapter is loosely based off of a personal, terrifying experience I had. Only without the gun... or the amazing Winchester brothers... Enjoy!

* * *

Terror From The Dark, Chapter 2

Sam found himself alone in the dark house. He and Dean had split up, Dean taking the main floor while Sam slunk through the darkness in the basement. He maneuvers through different rooms, quietly stepping around dust covered furniture and boxes. He holds his flashlight in one hand, stacked under his pistol held by the other, the barrel following the beam. Silently he moves towards the farthest door in the room. The door is closed and as he approaches it he places his ear near the side of the door, listening. That's when he hears it. That same scratching noise from the motel room. It was coming clearly from the other side of the door.

Sam reaches for the knob on the door, finding it locked. He inhales and takes a step back. He kicks the bottom of his boot into the door, impacting it hard and the door flies open. Sam immediately enters the room, drawing his light from one corner to the room to the other as he quickly surveys his surroundings. The beam falls on to the only object in the room, a front loader washing machine. Oddly enough, the washer is running, the laundry inside making a scratching noise as it tumbles in the barrel of the washer. Sam lowers his gun and exhales. Not a monster.

Sam turns to exit the room and hears a loud click from the washer. As Sam turns his beam back to the appliance the door to the washer clicks again and shoots open. Everything is suddenly quiet, the darkness of the room seeming to slowly encroach upon Sam. The beam of his flashlight flickers and suddenly goes dark. Sam curses under his breath and smacks the light with his hand. He backs up through the doorway, the pitch black of the basement growing more and more dark. Heavy. Almost tangible.

Two eyes suddenly appear from the washer, glowing an ugly neon yellow in the darkness. They have slits like the eyes of a snake. Sam feels them locked onto him, staring him down like a predator watches its prey. The eyes follow his movements as Sam slowly backs out of the room. He bumps into a box and stumbles slightly to the side but maintains his balance, keeping his own eyes locked on the glowing unnatural orbs ahead of him in the darkness. A few more taps to the head of the flashlight and the beam suddenly kicks back on. Sam immediately points it towards the washer again to get a better idea of what he's up against.

Slowly with catlike movements, what at first appears to be a human girl pulls herself out of the opening of the washer, her skin an extremely pale white and grey. The color of dead flesh. Her arms are contorted and shoulders dislocated unnaturally, her fingers cling to the sides of the washer as she propels herself forward out of the opening. Dark, stringy hair falls in front of her face, still not obscuring the intent glare of her glowing eyes. She hisses threateningly as she falls to the floor, unwinding her body as her limbs slide back to a more normal position. She stalks towards Sam on all fours, long limbs graceful like that of a mountain cat.

Sam trains his gun on her and squeezes the trigger. The hammer clicks but there is no action in the slide. He momentarily breaks eye contact with the creature crawling towards him and looks at his gun. Grabbing the slide, he runs it back, chambering another round and aims again, pulling the trigger but only getting an empty click in return. Sam curses again and turns tail, the flashlight illuminating the path ahead of him as his long legs carry him from the maze of rooms in the basement towards the stairs.

As he reaches the stairs he steals a glance behind him to see if he is being followed. The glowing eyes are moving fluidly towards him, the girl's grey dead skin illuminating bright in the beam of his flashlight as compared to the suffocating darkness surrounding them. She lets out a snarl and flashes a full set of teeth that are slightly too long, her clawed fingernails digging and scratching into the cement of the basement floor.

"Dean!" Sam yells as he starts up the stairs taking two at a time. He reaches the main floor and moves into the middle of the room. He spins, facing the stairway again. Holstering his gun he pulls out his knife, hoping his large Bowie won't fail him next.

Dean rushes in from an adjoining room. He has his own flashlight out and a double barrel sawed off shotgun drawn and at the ready. "Sam! Are you okay? What's wrong?" He moves quickly into the room and scans the area. He stops between Sam and the stairway, facing Sam and his back towards the stairway.

"There's a-a-a-... DEAN LOOK OUT!" Sam yells as he sees the creature clear the stairway. She is crawling up the wall, almost to the ceiling. The creature lets out another vicious snarl as it leaps from the wall onto Dean, just as he spins in the direction of the stairway. She lands on top of Dean, taking him down hard to the wooden floor. The sawed off goes flying out of Dean's hands and his head hits the hardwood with an audible crack.

Sam lunges towards Dean, brandishing the knife and strikes downwards to the creature's back. It's devilish yellow eyes snap up to meet Sam and he is suddenly thrown backwards by some unseen force. He goes sprawling back into the nearest wall, cracking the plaster upon impact and landing hard on his tailbone. He scrambles to get up, stumbling from his knees to his feet, then back down to his knees as his vertigo fails him momentarily. In that moment the creature lets out a joyful screech as Dean struggles beneath her, it's sharp nails cut into his skin and pins him to the ground. She shoves her head down to the crook of Dean's neck. Her teeth cut into his flesh, and he screams out in agony. She jerks her head back up, mouth dripping with skin, blood and muscle. She smiles in Sam's direction, eyes flashing and teeth bared. Dean's blood begins to pool beneath him.

Sam gasps at the scene unfolding in front of him, everything happening too quickly. Watching as she tears flesh away from his brother's neck, his own heart wrenching with dread and pain as Dean screams, his blood spilling across the floor.

"No-NO! DEAN!"

Sam's eyes snap open as he gasps for air after choking out his brother's name in horror. The glow from the parking lot lights outside the motel illuminate the room just enough. Sam's eyes focus as he struggles to catch his breath. A nightmare. It was just a nightmare. Sam's throat is dry, his body damp from sweat. He is facing the bathroom door, his back towards his brother's bed. He lets out a big sigh. Just a nightmare, he tells himself again. He pushes himself to roll over to face Dean, as it has always been a comfort to see the even movement of Dean's chest rising and falling in the adjacent bed.

As Sam rolls to he comes face to face with eyes. Ugly, yellow eyes staring into his less than a foot away. They stare at him from just beyond the edge of the mattress, the top half of the creature's head from the nose up visible to Sam as he lays in his own bed. It's stringy black hair darker than the darkness of the room.

Sam lets out a surprised gasp and he sits up quickly, lunging for the pistol at the corner of his nightstand. "DEAN!" He screams, half for wanting to alert his brother, the other half needing to know his brother was still alive. He points the gun over to the eyes between their beds as Dean jumps to action, hurriedly clicking on the light.

"Sam! What's Wrong!?" Dean is at the ready, having jumped out of bed at Sam's cry, his own Bowie knife in hand that he sleeps with under his pillow. His eyes adjust to the light to find Sam pointing a gun in his direction, he notices the panicked, seriously freaked out look in his brother's eyes. "Sam...," warily, he non-threateningly holds his free hand out towards Sam. "Hey, hey, hey, it was just a nightmare. Put the gun down, Sammy... There's nothing here..."

Sam blinks, confusion running through his eyes. There is nothing there. No glowing yellow eyes. No corpse pale body with its long dark hair. Just crappy green motel carpet.

Sam takes a shaky breath, and lowers his gun. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, gathering his thoughts as his mind relives the nightmare he just woke up from. He opens his eyes and stares down at the floor, not saying a word, just trying to slow his heart rate down and sort through his jumbled thoughts. Dean stares at him, arm still outstretched with his palm facing towards Sam, waiting for Sam to say something. He wonders what state his brother's mind is in. After a few moments, Dean cranes his head down towards his brother, trying to meet his gaze. His voice is gruff with concern, "Sam...?"

Sam raises his gaze to meet Dean's. He has a surety, a knowledge in his eyes that would be hard to refute. He nods slightly, and takes a breath. "Dean... there's something in here. I saw it."


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Sam is seeing something, but can Dean trust that it is real? Or is Sam merely working through some Hell induced night terrors? Set mid season 7.

Disclaimer: Still don't own any of Supernatural. If only...

Author's Note: Reviews appreciated! Bare with me as I try to figure out where this is all going. Maybe I just like seeing Sam bleed... haha!

* * *

Terror From The Dark Ch3

Dean sighs and paces the floor of the motel room. He runs both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes for a moment before looking back to Sam. "So you're sure you were awake when you saw the glow-y eyes by your bed?" Dean crosses one arm across his chest and sets the other vertically on it, rubbing his fingers over the gruff 5 o'clock shadow that covers his jaw line. " I mean, you know, you weren't still... out of it, or dreaming or whatever?" Hallucinating. The word drifts through his thoughts, but Dean doesn't want to bring up the Satan visions. That's how the Winchesters deal with problems; Ignore them and hope they sort themselves out. After Sam had calmed down from the earlier events of the night, Dean had pried out of him exactly what had happened during the nightmare and the events following the abrupt wake up both the brothers had in turn received.

"Yes, I'm sure. Dean, whatever I saw, it was here. In this room. It was real." Sam has moved from his bed and sits at the desk furnished by the motel. Both hands up on the desk top, idly rubbing the scar on this left hand with the thumb on is right. He glances up at Dean, wishing he would believe him but knowing Dean probably thinks the flock of bats in his belfry multiply by the hour. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Lucifer wandering the hotel room, glancing out the window through the curtains. Looking plumb bored. Sam adds a little more pressure to the scar and watches as Lucifer disappears. Sam turns his full attention back to his brother.

Dean taps his chin with his fingers, then gestures outwards with his hand, willing to give Sam the benefit of the doubt. "Well, I guess the first thing we need to do is figure out what we're dealing with." He moves over to the door and checks the salt line, still intact. Same with the window. "To check off the usual suspects, ghost? Demon? It couldn't have gotten in here... not with the salt." Dean ponders as he glances back at Sam. "Maybe along the lines of a Succubus... but, you know," Dean smirks, "Less sexy."

Sam gives Dean a look as he turns and lifts the lid on his laptop. The screen illuminates and the system starts booting up. "I don't know. It doesn't feel right..." Sam brings up the Internet browser and starts typing, searching for any leads while he wracks his own brain for ideas. "Possibly a relation to African Dream Root... No... that doesn't feel right either..." he trails off, involving himself in his research.

Dean glances down at his watch and sighs again. It's only 5:13 in the morning. "Well, looks like we're going to be up for the day. I'm going to run to the gas station across the street for some coffee and grub." He throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Sitting on his bed he slips his boots on over a fresh pair of socks, lacing them tightly. He stands and grabs his jacket, glancing over at Sam who is still staring intently at his laptop, clicking and scrolling. Sam's lips moving as he skims over the text on the web pages. Dean smirks, his little Geek brother at it again. "You going to be okay here on your own? I'm just going across the street..." Dean hesitates, but Sam nods and waves his hand towards his brother.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me," Sam picks up his cell phone laying right next to his laptop and motions to Dean with it, "I'll call you if anything else happens." Sam smiles at Dean reassuringly. Dean nods and picks his own phone off the nightstand, pocketing it as he turns to the door.

"'Kay well... I won't be long." Dean opens the door and steps out into the brisk morning air, a slight drizzle misting the atmosphere as a thin fog wisps across the parking lot, empty except for the lone black Impala. It's still dark out, no moon to be seen through the clouds. The parking lot is illuminated by the street lamps. Dean pops his collar and pushes his hands into the pockets of his coat. He heads away from the motel through the parking lot towards the 24-hour gas station.

Inside the motel room, Sam sets an elbow on the desk, resting his chin in his hand as he scrolls through website after website of lore. He absently taps the fingers of one hand on the desk. Time passes with no luck on finding any leads. His eyes are tired and he leans back in the chair, rubbing the lids of his dry eyes with his knuckles and dragging both hands down his face. He lets out a yawn and hunches back down over the desk, resuming his research on the website before him.

The door to the bathroom slams shut with a fierce bang, startling Sam upright out of his chair. He stands behind the desk, gaze towards the door, his heart pounding from the sudden start. Nothing else moves, no noises. Lithely, he makes his way to his duffel still perched on the end of his bed. He pulls his knife out and holds it defensively. He creeps towards the door as he listens intently for any further sounds. All is quiet.

Sam reaches for the door handle, having a brief deja vous moment from his nightmare only a few hours earlier. He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. Opening his eyes, Sam clenches his jaw and mans up. He grabs the handle to the door and shoves it open with force, the door swinging open wide and Sam brandishes his knife, ready for anything.

Nothing. The bathroom is empty. Sam sticks his head in and glances around. Nothing. He moves over to the shower and hesitates, the curtain shut concealing the shower behind it. He grips the curtain and in one fluid motion he rakes the curtain to the side, the rings from the curtain screeching against the curtain rod. Again, nothing. Looking over his shoulder, Sam surveys the bathroom one last time. Narrowing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. All this is wearing on him, he feels like he's losing his mind again, but knows this isn't a Hell vision. It feels too different. He thumbs the scar on his palm again as he turns to exit the bathroom. On the way out he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and freezes.

Eyes, yellow eyes. But they are his eyes. The slit-like pupils dilate then narrow. The eyes have an appearance of smugness, looking unnatural on his shocked face. He closes his eyes and rubs them harshly with the back of his hands, one hand still gripping his long knife. He opens his eyes again and stares into the mirror. Nothing. His eyes, normal, albeit a little more bloodshot than usual. Sam takes one last look around and moves quickly out of the bathroom. Stopping at the desk he picks up his phone and starts to dial Dean's number.

His body is suddenly hit from behind, laying him flat out on the floor. He lands on that damn ugly carpet void of padding, the wind knocked right out of his lungs. He gasps and tries to clamber up, only to be slammed back down, his head hitting the hard surface of the floor. White pain flashes behind his eyes and he wishes his brain would stop sloshing around his skull. He groans and tries to push himself up again, finding he can't get off the ground nor roll over, for that matter. Something is laying on him, pinning him down. He cranes his head as far over as possible to see if he can catch a glimpse of what has him pinned. His gaze lands on the haunting yellow eyes.

The creature grins at him, her eyes shining with mischief and glee. Her lips are mostly purple, white fangs shining brighter than her dull grey skin. She places her clawed fingers into his shoulders and digs into his flesh. Sam lets out a gasp of pain and clenches his jaw, trying not to give her the satisfaction of hearing his pain. She leans in close to Sam's ear and speaks, her voice like the whisper of wind through the trees, "Aren't you a pretty thing..." Her fingers dig in deeper, eliciting another groan from Sam, his breath hitches in his throat as he holds back another cry of pain. She laughs softly, the noise sending chills down Sam's spine. Her tongue shoots out of her mouth, pointed and long. It gently licks up the side of Sam's neck and behind his ear. Sam scrunches his face and his body involuntarily shudders. He feels like throwing up.

There is a shuffling of footsteps at the door to the motel room, a crinkling of a bag as Dean tries to juggle his loot and dig the keys to the motel out of his pocket. He can't believe his luck. They had pie. He's having pie for breakfast.

Hearing their session about to be interrupted, the creature hisses. "Until we meet again, hunter..." Sam feels her body shift and suddenly she rakes her claws from his shoulders down his back, arching her body like a cat as her weight lifts and she fades. Sam can't help it this time, he screams.

From the other side of the door, Dean finally retrieves the key from his pocket. As he slides it into the lock, he hears a scream that makes his blood run cold. "Sam?! SAMMY!" He drops everything he was holding and unlocks the door, shoving it open with his shoulder and stumbles into the room, feeling like he can't get in there fast enough. He freezes when he sees his brother, sprawled out on the floor and writhing in pain. Dean's eyes catch the faintest hint of yellow eyes, making contact with them as they lock onto him as well. Then they're gone.

Dean rushes to Sam, moving across the room in a few quick strides and drops to kneel down by his brother. He takes a quick survey of Sam and his heart wrenches. He places a hand on Sam's head, trying to be of some comfort. Dean notices Sam's body shaking, he must be really hurting. "Aw shit, Sam..." Dean mutters.

"Dean-..." Sam manages, the pain apparent in his voice. Dean's hand on his head and he tries to relax, knowing his brother is there and he is safe for the time being. He lets out another groan and chokes back a sob. He hurts so much. His skin feels like it is on fire. Memories from Hell ebb into his mind and he desperately tries to shove them back. He looks past Dean and can see Lucifer sitting over on Dean's bed, grinning as he flashes him a wink. He can hear Lucifer jeering him, laughing gleefully at the agony he finds himself in. No, he can't take this right now. Sam tries to find the strength to push himself up off the ground but he can't get his shaking arms to cooperate, they feel like they're made of jello._ Hoho, big Sammy is down for the count!_ he hears Lucifer remark. He ignores it, trying to push Hell out of his mind.

Dean speaks softly, "It's okay... don't move Sammy... Let me check you out and we'll get you all fixed up, 'kay?" Sam manages a nod, taking in a shaky breath and trying to hold himself together. Dean grabs Sam's knife from the floor where it landed after Sam went down and gently lifts the shredded t-shirt from Sam's back. He cuts through the remaining bloody fabric holding the shirt together and lays it open so he can get a clear look at Sam. Long clean scrapes adorn his back, starting from the top of his shoulders down to just below his mid back. Blood was pooling up from the gashes and began spilling over the already swelling flesh. They are mean looking, but not life threatening. Dean winces inwardly, his mind recounting his own personal experience of being torn apart by Hellhounds. He sympathizes with what Sam must be feeling.

"Sammy, think you can make it to the bed? I need to clean you up and I think you will be more comfortable..." Dean asks as he squeezes Sam's left arm reassuringly. Sam nods again, trying to gather his strength. Dean moves to Sam's head and waits until Sam is ready. Sam finally balls his hands into fists and moves them under his torso. He presses them into the ground and Dean grabs Sam from the front, under his arms, and helps pull him up off the floor. Sam lets out a whimper as he gets to his feet and he stumbles with Dean's help to his bed, half collapsing onto it as Dean tries to let him down as gently as he can.

Once he gets Sam settled onto the bed Dean moves into the bathroom and grabs one of the towels. He moves back to the beds and grabs the first aid kit out of his duffel for the second time in 24 hours. Dean sighs and pulls out the saline cleaner. "Sorry Sammy, this is going to hurt..."

* * *

Please review! Let me know if you like it or hate it. I'm having fun either way. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Sam is seeing something, but can Dean trust that it is real? Or is Sam merely working through some Hell induced night terrors? Set mid season 7.

Disclaimer: Supernatural, still not mine.

Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to BruisedBloodyBroken. Thanks so much for my _first_ comment _ever_! You made my day. ;) You asked for it, you get it! Monster's identity, revealed! Also, thanks to those that have followed/favorited the story already! I appreciate it!

* * *

Terror From The Dark Ch4

"Gah... Dean- aaaggh," Sam has been whimpering and pleading for Dean to stop for the last twenty minutes. His hands are gripping the sheets up by his head as he buries his face into the pillow on his motel bed. His body shakes with pain as he tries to hold still for Dean who is washing and cleaning the lacerations down Sam's back. Dean takes a rag and sops up more blood as it pools and runs over the sides of the wounds. Sam takes another shaky breath and groans, "Deeeeean, it burns-aargh!"

Dean bites his lip every time Sam makes a noise. He hates doing this, but he feels like it is necessary. He shakes his head, "I'm sorry Sammy. There's gotta be a sort of residue or venom or something that bitch left behind... I can see it bleeding out... We need to get it out of you." He pours more saline down Sam's left side as he sees more grey hued mucus surface from the wounds, the frequency of its appearance over the last few minutes is at a steady decline. He wipes the rag down Sam's back again, trying to be as gentle yet firm as possible, eliciting another whimper from Sam. Dean winces himself, empathizing with his little brother, "I think it's about clean..." He sighs. The gashes are too deep, requiring stitches next. Dean has a feeling this is going to be hell.

As soon as he is satisfied with the infrequency of the venom surfacing and the flow of blood slowing down nicely, Dean pulls out his trusty needle and thread. He stares at it, not wanting to proceed but he knows what he has to do. "You sure you don't want a drink? The mini bar is still mostly stalked, it might help with the pain..." Dean suggests, but Sam shakes his head.

"I might be a whiny little girl... but I'm not going to get liquored up so you can have your way with me." Sam mumbles out, his voice gruff from his cries of pain but a sarcastic smart-ass smile/grimace on his face as he raises his head from the pillow and turns to meet Dean's gaze.

Dean looks caught off guard for a second, then smiles back at his brother. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

o0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o

Dean is surprised Sam hasn't passed out yet. Each time he pushes the needle through Sam's skin and pulls the edges of the lacerations together, Sam practically sobs into his pillow and prays the torture will end. He lays with his hands tucked under his chin and grips tightly to the sheets on the bed. He grits his teeth and holds as still as he can manage for Dean while he works, his mind numb and his back still burning the pain intensifying where Dean skewers him with the needle. Dean doesn't know how much more he can take, let alone how much more Sam can handle. "Just a few more Sammy..." Dean tries to encourage him between his muffled cries, "Almost done, stay with me..."

Finally, Dean pulls his last stitch closed and ties it off. After cutting the thread he leans back, breathing a sigh of relief. He takes large gauze pads and secures them to Sam's back to protect the stitches as Sam tries to even out his breathing and pull himself back together. He's slightly embarrassed by letting Dean see him like this, shaking and sobbing like a ninny, but on the other hand he is simply too exhausted to care.

Dean stands up and rubs his eyes, heading over to the mini bar for a drink of his own. He grabs a mini bottle of Jack from the fridge and sucks it down in seconds. He grimaces as the whiskey burns his throat on the way down and wipes his mouth with his arm. He turns and looks back at Sam who hasn't moved a muscle. Dean points a finger at him even though Sam isn't looking, his face still buried in the pillow as he slows his breathing while his body gives the occasional involuntary shudder. "Don't you ever make me do that again."

Sam replies with a chuckle though it sounds more like a choked sob. All he wants to do right now is curl up and die. After laying there another few moments, he releases his hands from the sheets he props himself up, eventually rolling slightly and grimacing as he manages to sit up and stiffly swing his legs over the side of the bed. He rests his elbows on his knees and hangs his head, brushing the strands of hair out of his eyes and resting his face in his palms. "We need to find out what that was... and soon." He takes another shaky breath, still working at getting himself together. "I don't think I can take any more of that if it shows up again... and I am pretty sure it is planning on another date..."

Dean nods in agreement, taking out another mini bottle of alcohol and sips at it this time. "What the hell happened? I thought you were going to call if anythi-" Sam cuts him off, hearing Dean's voice starting to get angry, but he knows it's just concern.

"I was trying to call you..." He motions to his discarded phone that landed a few feet from where Dean found Sam after he barged into the room. "It hit me before I could get the call out..." Sam shudders, remembering it's tongue on his neck, "It spoke to me. It knows we're hunters..." Sam trails off, his brain trying to put an association with what the creature was or what it could be related to. He knows a little more about it now from their brief but excruciating interaction. His brain, even in a foggy mess of exhaustion, Hell, and pain, works in overdrive to make a connection. Anything that might help. "Okay so... it talks. It must be sentient. It has higher intelligence..."

"Higher intelligence my ass. Nothing messes with my brother and lives to tell about it." Dean cuts in after taking another swig from his mini bottle.

Sam looks at Dean and briefly flashes an appreciative smile. Sam then takes notice of Lucifer sitting at the desk in the room, idly swinging side to side in the swivel chair. It catches Sam off guard for a moment but he immediately reaches for the scar on his palm. Lucifer sighs, flickers, then disappears. Sam clears his throat and continues with his assessment, "Uh, it exists in dreams. Reality too. Maybe thoughts? It can be invisible... but it's like it's not physically there unless visible..." He trails off again and smirks. "Kind of reminds me of the Cheshire Cat." He furrows his eyebrows, "Is that a real thing?"

Dean turns the corners of his mouth down and shrugs. It's nothing he's ever come across... "We're all mad here." He throws out helpfully. He tosses the empty bottles in the trash and moves over to the desk in the room, he leans against it and stares at Sam. He is relieved that Sam looks like he's really staying afloat. He doesn't think he's ever seen him in that much physical pain. Though, that was probably only a drop in the bucket to what the Cage must have been like. It was Dean's fear that all that distress and pain would push Sam to the breaking point, his Lucifer visions already taking their toll on Sam's ability to cope after the wall came down. But, like Dean thought to himself earlier, Sam is one tough son of a bitch.

Sam sits up again and slowly pushes himself back onto the bed, setting up a pillow barrier between the headboard and his back. "It must excrete some kind of poison or venom. Those didn't feel like any of our usual lacerations. My skin is still on fire... hurts like a bitch."He winces as he leans back onto the headboard, he holds his hand out, "Hand me my laptop." Sam is exhausted but he dreads going back to sleep. He needs to figure this out before he can feel safe enough to even close his eyes for an extended period of time.

Dean unplugs the laptop and passes it over to Sam who sets it on his lap and immediately starts searching for any useful information. Moving over to his own bed, Dean picks up his duffel off the floor and pulls their dad's journal out. He pauses with a thought, heads over to the door and opens it. He looks down at his slice of gas station pie he had dropped in his rush to get into the room. It is still intact in it's plastic covering and Dean shrugs to himself and smiles. He bends down and retrieves it from the concrete and moves back inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. He sits down on the edge of the bed pops the lid off the pie and takes the slice out, chewing on it while he flips though the journal. Sam glances at Dean as he chews, Dean looks up to meet Sam's gaze. "What?" He says with a mouthful of pie, "Can't let good pie go to waste!" Sam smiles a little and shakes his head, looking back to his laptop.

After about several minutes of searching Sam sits up a little straighter and clears his throat. "Okay, so get this... there is a creature known as a Caeca Terriculi." Sam shifts his gaze to Dean. Dean shakes his head, never heard of it before. Sam looks down at his laptop and continues, "In Latin, that means Dark Terror. I guess it's a type of supernatural parasite. It starts as a non-physical being and after attaching to a host, it feeds off of fear and pain. The more it feeds the stronger it gets, the more physical it can manifest."

Dean raises his eyebrows and gives a nod. "That sounds like it could fit the bill. What else?"

Sam continues reading the page, "Umm... The Caeca usually only feeds off a host during dreams, being a source of nightmares. It can appear in any form it chooses. In order to avoid detection, it will often stick with a host only long enough to build up enough physicality to survive for a few months before needing to attach to a new host. On rare occasions, the Caeca will attach to a host and gorge itself until the host expires. Depending on the amount of food it gets from the host, the Caeca can eventually manifest in an entirely physical form and inflict physical wounds, leaving behind painful venom in the victim to enhance its feeding." Sam looks up at Dean, always excited when a case breaks. "Dean... this is it. It's gotta be."

Dean closes the journal and leans forward on the edge of the bed. He rests his elbows on his knees and scratches his chin. "So, you have the stuff of nightmares haunting your... nightmares. Looks like it has already 'fed' enough to show its ugly face in the real world. I believe you have one of those rare cases where it wants to eat you to death." Dean presses his palms together and rubs them against one another, "Now the important question, how do we kill it?"

Sam looks back to his laptop, scanning further ahead in the page. "Uhh, says here..." He sighs, giving Dean a look, "It will either detach itself naturally, or legend has it once the Caeca becomes solid enough, it can be killed by stabbing it with a brass blade bathed in the blood of the host."

Dean nods again and purses his lips, "Aren't you glad we picked up that brass knife after the encounter with the rakshasa? Finally get to gank something with the damn thing. I told you it would be a great investment." He flashes Sam a smug smile and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Just go get it.

"With pleasure."

Dean stands up and heads outside to the Impala parked near the door to their motel room. Sam hears the trunk slam moments later and Dean reappears holding a knife with a five inch double sided blade made of brass. He walks over to Sam and hands him the knife. Positioning the knife on his forearm, Sam takes a deep breath and slides the blade down into his skin. He winces as he draws blood. He lets the blood flow down the blade and smears it for good coverage. Satisfied, he hands the knife back to Dean.

Dean takes the knife and nods approvingly. "We'll be ready for the bitch this time."


	5. Chapter 5

Summary: Sam is seeing something, but can Dean trust that it is real? Or is Sam merely working through some Hell induced night terrors? Set mid season 7.

Disclaimer: Again, still not proud owner of SPN.

Author's Note: One more chapter after this, I think. We'll see where it leads us! Thanks for reading! :)

* * *

Terror From The Dark

Chapter 5

After making a trip to the bathroom and checking out his back, Sam shuffles back to his motel bed, sipping on a glass of cold water. He puts the glass down on his nightstand and sits down on the bed with a groan. He is exhausted. He digs around in his duffel and pulls out some Tylenol to help with the pounding in his head and hopefully dull the rest of the pain in his aching body. He shakes two pills out of the bottle, tosses them into his mouth and swallows them down with another swig of water.

"Dude, you look like shit. Get some shut eye." Dean says, voice full of concern, from his own bed. He has the TV on and is flipping through early afternoon soap operas.

Sam shakes his head, "Not until that thing is dead..."

"Sam, you can't stay awake that long. It might be days until she shows again. Hell, maybe even weeks." Dean reasons, "You won't be any use to anyone if you're some kind of delirious sleep deprived zombie. Plus, you need to rest so your body can heal. Your arm got ripped up less than 48 hours ago and now your back is torn to hell. The only thing you're good for right now is laying your ass down in that bed and catching some Z's."

Sam rubs his face and sighs. He runs a hand through his hair while he considers his options. He looks at Dean with tired eyes and concedes to Dean's logic. "Fine. But, you wake me up if I... you know, look like I need it... The last thing I need is to be torn limb from limb in my sleep..."

Dean nods. "Fair enough. Now get some beauty rest. I'll be here the whole time..." He looks back to the TV and settles on a rerun of Dr. Sexy. He laces his fingers on his lap, both feet up on his bed and leans up against the headboard.

Stripped down to only his boxers and a whole lot of bandages, Sam gingerly lays face down on his bed and gets comfortable. He turns his head in Dean's direction and closes his eyes, hoping for dreamless oblivion. The scratches on his back, though still feeling inflamed and painful, have stopped screaming at him and have lowered intensity to a dull roar. He hardly notices the stitches in his right arm, though it is a fair amount of sore as well. He'd rather a skin walker over a nightmare-driven parasite any day of the week... Sam's thoughts begin to wander and in no time he drifts into exhausted unconsciousness.

Dean looks over at Sam after he settles down and notices he's already drifting off. He listens to Sam's breathing as it starts to slow down and watches as his limbs begin to occasionally twitch. Good. Dean knows Sam is in desperate need of some good rest, and he hopes he'll be able to get some before the shit hits the fan next. He turns the volume down on the TV a few clicks so as not to disturb Sam's slumber.

o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0o

Sam walks down a game path through the forest. Tall grass grows along the trail with thick leafy trees encroaching upon the path. The sun is almost set and the cloudy sky fades from orange to purple. A cool wind picks up and blows through the grass, causing Sam to shiver. He is walking in just jeans and a t-shirt, he must have forgot his jacket... To his left, Sam hears a rustle in the tall grass. He stops on the trail and looks to where he heard the sound. "Hello?" He listens but there is no answer. He feels naked with no weapon on him. Why isn't he carrying any weapons?

He steps off the path and heads into the tall grass. The wind gusts again and Sam swears he can hear something. It faintly sounds like a voice, blowing in the wind. He heads farther off the path and moves into the dense trees of the forest. "Hello...? Hey, is there anyone there?" He hears a rustle deeper into the forest and pushes his way through branches and leaves. Where was Dean? He said he wouldn't leave Sam, but he's not here. Another whisper of wind, and Sam can make out his own name.

"Sssssam... Ssssammmmy..." It whispers in the evening air. Only Dean calls him Sammy.

"Dean? Dean!" Hey, are you out here?" Sam shouts, pushing his way through the trees. They keep getting thicker and the branches are grabbing at his shirt and scratching at his arms. His shirt gets hopelessly snagged on a branch. He turns to untangle himself and suddenly a machete lands on the wood next to him. He jumps, startled, until he sees the face of the person wielding the machete. Dean. He lets out a sigh of relief and manages to free his shirt from the branch. "Dude, where have you been? I've been looking for you..."

o0o

It has been almost three hours since Sam has fallen asleep. Dean checks on him every few minutes, making sure he looks as undisturbed as Sam can manage considering the quality of sleep he has had since Jessica's fiery death. Dean stands and grabs the brass blade off the nightstand where he had placed it earlier. He heads into the bathroom, taking a glance back at Sam's prone figure as he lays on the bed. Sam seems a little disturbed, but not apparently in any worrying amount of distress. Leaving the door open a crack, Dean turns on the shower. The rings make a scraping noise when they slide over the curtain bar as Dean slides the curtain shut.

o0o

"I was looking for you too, Sammy. I heard something and came out to find your sorry ass lumbering through the trees like a giant lost Sasquatch. Keep heading that way," Dean points his machete in the direction Sam had been headed. "I think there is a path that will lead us back to the car." The sun had set completely now and the sky was growing black. Dark clouds would temporarily block out the moonlight as they passed over, blown across the sky from the force of the gusty breeze.

Dean moves through the trees quickly, especially with the help of his machete. Sam follows behind but had a hard time keeping up. Dean's movements were extremely agile, almost cat-like, which, though wasn't _that_ unusual, still felt wrong. As they step back onto the path, Sam stops and watches Dean slink up the path in the light of the moon that hung overhead, currently unobscured by cloud cover. A few yards up, Dean glances back at Sam. "Hey, you coming? Or you going to stand out here all night and freeze to death?"

Sam sets his jaw, looking at Dean warily. Dean starts to approach Sam but Sam takes a step back. "You go on ahead, Dean. I'll catch up..." Darkness begins to grow thicker around them, Sam can feel it start to weigh on him. His back starts to throb and he remembers. His eyes narrow at Dean as he stands a few feet away from him. " I know what you are. Get the hell away from me. Get out of my head, and leave me alone!"

Dean smirks, his eyes going yellow. "Well... aren't you the clever little hunter..." It starts to move towards him, slowly and cat-like. Sam takes another few steps back, but he has very limited options as to what his next move should be. It will catch him easy in the trees, which leaves only the game trail. He turns and takes off running, the pounding of his feet muffled by the dirt and tall grass that surrounds him. He hears it laugh- Dean's laugh- and it sends a chill up his spine. The darkness moves in like a dense fog and Sam stumbles on a surfaced tree root. The stumble is all Dean needs to catch up to him. Before he knows it he is knocked flat again, laying on his chest with Dean sitting on his back. He can feel it's hand run roughly over his shirt, disturbing the stitches he is all too aware of now. Dean leans down by Sam's head and grins. He holds the machete just so Sam can see it. "How about we do a little carving? Let's see if I can't make you scream like a schoolgirl..."

Sam struggles to get up, finding that once again, he can't move. He starts to panic, "No, please, no... Just leave me alone! Dean! DEAN! NO!"

Dean brings the machete up with both hands and stabs downwards into Sam.

o0o

As the shower runs in the bathroom, Dean leans on the counter top by the sink. He waits and listens, Sam's mumbles begin to increase in strength and urgency. Dean grips the brass knife tightly in his hand and he peers through the opening of the bathroom door he had left open just enough. His eyes narrow and his pulse begins to race as he sees the ugly bitch sitting on his brother. It's head is covered in long black hair and its arms and legs are far too long to be considered human. It is crouched over his upper legs and drawing its clawed hands lazily down his back, as though deciding where they want to start their torment. He can hear it whispering to Sam, but can't quite make out what it is saying. "Not this time, bitch." He mutters to himself as he opens the door quietly just enough for him to squeeze out.

He pauses, making sure the Caeca was still unaware of his approach, but she appears too intent with her feeding. He creeps up on her slowly, careful to keep himself out of her line of sight. He gets within five feet of the bed and takes a deep breath. Now or never.

Sam starts to mumble like he's pleading for something to stop. He struggles and starts calling out for his brother. "Dean! DEAN! NO!"

"I'm here, Sammy!" Dean growls as he raises the knife. The thing turns suddenly to Dean, yellow eyes burning with anger at being disturbed during its meal. Dean lunges at it as she begins to fade, arching the knife downwards towards the Caeca's back. To Dean's surprise and horror, the knife doesn't make contact with the creature's back.. It was as if she were only semi-solid, the knife not connecting with anything of real substance to stop its momentum. Dean tries at the last second to change the knife's course, but the blade still ends up plunging into his brother's skin. As the creature disappears completely, its hold on Sam is released as well.

Sam yelps loudly as he feels a knife sink into his side. His eyes snap open and he pushes himself off the bed and tries to scramble away from the source of pain. His eyes lock onto Dean, pretty sure either he's still dreaming or that thing is still in Dean's form. Either way, that can't be Dean. It stabbed him!

Dean stands shocked for a moment, terror running through his mind. He totally just stabbed his brother. He grabs at Sam as he stumbles out of the bed but can't get a good hold on him, "Hey, woah! Easy there, tiger!"

Sam stumbles back away from Dean and tries frantically to reach the knife still sticking into his back. Dean moves forwards quickly and tries to grab him again, not wanting Sam to do any more damage than he's already managed to do to Sam. "Sam! Quit! HEY!" Sam refuses to listen, his mind still reeling from the nightmare. "Sam! Don't pull that out, SAM!" Dean does the only thing he thinks will work against his panicked brother, he grabs Sam's arm that's fighting him off jerks it down and slaps him across the face, hard.

The sudden slap across the face makes Sam stop. He reaches up with the hand Dean isn't gripping and puts it on his face, covering the cheek Dean hit, his breathing and heartbeat both erratic. He stares at Dean, studying him up and down as he rubs his stinging cheek. Dean stares back at him, his eyes locked on to Sam's. "We cool?" Dean stares at him intently, not breaking eye contact.

Sam nods slightly, still holding his cheek. That's gotta be his Dean... "You stabbed me." He sounds hurt.

Dean lets go of Sam's arm, "I... uh, know. It was an accident, Sam. I was trying to stab the creepy bitch trying to cowboy you up... The knife went right though her."

Sam shakes his head. "In my dream too... You stabbed me- Gah, get this thing out of me..." Sam offers his side towards Dean, knife still sticking out a few inches from his flesh.

Dean moves over to Sam and places a hand on his side near the knife. He inspects the wound and is relieved to find it isn't going to be a serious wound. "Okay, on three..." He grips the hilt of the knife with his free hand.

Nodding Sam, clenches his teeth. Dean starts counting, "One..." He pulls out the knife quickly, careful to keep it at the angle it went in to minimize the damage. Sam hisses and stumbles a few steps forward. He immediately reaches back and presses his hand against the wound. He brings his hand forward again and looks at the blood smeared on his palm. Dean grabs some gauze out of his first aid kit and moves back to Sam, he hands him the gauze. "Here, give it some pressure..."

Sam takes the gauze and presses it hard onto the wound, wincing. He hangs his head and sighs. Dean moves to stand in front of him, "Now you said I stabbed you in your dream? Like, it was me?"

He raises his eyes to meet Dean's, the Dean from his dream running through his mind with the glowing yellow eyes. "Yeah... it, uh, took the form of you. It acted like you, talked like you... then you- it, attacked me. Stabbed me with a damn machete..."

Guilt fills Dean's features, he feels terrible about stabbing his little brother, both in his dream and in real life. "Sammy, I'm sorry... I didn't, you know... mean to-"

"It's fine, Dean. Don't worry about it." Sam moves around Dean and heads into the bathroom. He wants to distance himself from his nightmare and can't do it if he's staring Dean right in the face at the moment. He removes the gauze pad and inspects the knife wound himself in the mirror. He sighs, it could have been worse...

* * *

Final chapter coming up next! Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Thanks for making it this far with me. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Summary: Sam is seeing something, but can Dean trust that it is real? Or is Sam merely working through some Hell induced night terrors? Set mid season 7.

Disclaimer: Wish I owned Supernatural, but I don't.

Author's Note: Okay, final chapter! It's the longest, so be prepared. Had to throw in some brotherly schmoop too, because I can!

* * *

Terror From The Dark

Chapter 6

Sam supports himself for a moment with his arms on the corner of the sink. He had pressed the gauze onto the wound until the bleeding had all but stopped. He knew he'd have to have Dean help take care of it, but he still wanted some time to himself. The room is spinning a bit and he is shaky at best on his own feet. He folds his arms on top of one another and hunches down, resting his forehead on his arms. He closes his eyes and wills the room to hold still. When he feels like he can move without passing out he stands upright and turns on the sink. He washes the mostly dried blood from his hands. Once the water runs clear again Sam splashes water on his face and then runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He takes a deep breath and stares into the mirror. The face staring back at him is tired, much too pale, and needs a shave. Lucifer's reflection is also there, standing to Sam's left. He gives Sam a mock sympathetic look. _You're not looking too hot there, Sammy boy_. _Reminiscent of your years as my pitiful bitch in my Cage. Remember that, bunk buddy?_ Sam doesn't even bother rubbing his scar. He's too worn out. The room starts to spin again and he puts the lid down on the toilet seat and sits so he doesn't fall over. He sets his elbows on his knees and rests his face in his hands.

He is sick of the fear and sick of the pain. Sick of the hallucinations and sick of the nightmares. He feels all he has to hold on to right now is his brother, and he hates seeing the guilt on Dean's face when he knows he's hurt Sam. Sam knows he didn't mean to, all that Dean was trying to do was help. But he knows Dean will beat himself up and feel guilty about it anyway. He doesn't think he can take the guilt trip right now.

Dean hangs out in the main area of their shared motel room, giving Sam his space in the bathroom. Moving over to the mini bar, he grabs out what's left of the whiskey and twists the top off the bottle. He drinks it down in a few swigs and throws the bottle, probably a little harder than he needs to, into the trash. He was so close, he thought he had the bitch. His plan to wait it out while Sam slept had worked perfect, up until he tried to gank the thing and it just wasn't there. It must not have been solid enough for the knife to do its damage... How much more did Sam need to go through until it was solid enough to hit? Dean didn't particularly want to find out. He sighed. He felt so helpless not being able to protect Sam. What's more, he could have killed Sam. He runs his hands over his face and starts to pace around the room. He won't miss again.

It makes Dean uneasy to leave Sam alone for too long. He debates whether or not to check in on him and of course, brotherly instincts get the best of him and he moves over to the bathroom door and knocks, even though its been left slightly ajar. "You okay in there, Sammy?" He pushes the door open a little more and finds Sam resting on the lid of the toilet, head resting in his hands.

Sam doesn't even bother to look up but he does manage a slight head nod. "Yeah..." His voice is raspy. It's obvious he's not okay. Dean moves into the bathroom and crouches down to get a better look at his brother. His skin is very pale and feels clammy when Dean reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. His hand feels warm on Sam's cold skin.

"I think we need to get you back into bed, Sammy. Let's get some liquids in you and you need to rest." Dean says gently as he stands up and offers Sam his hand.

Sam sighs and sits up. He grabs Dean's hand and Dean helps pull him up and holds him steady on his feet. Sam puts his left arm around Dean's shoulders and lets Dean help him back into the main room of the motel. He feels dizzy and so tired. They move back to the beds and Dean maneuvers Sam to his bed once again and helps him sit. Once he is sure Sam is secure on the bed he grabs the glass of water Sam had been drinking on earlier and goes back into the bathroom. He fills the glass up with some fresh water and brings it back to Sam, handing it over and watches as Sam drinks most of it. He takes the glass and sets it back onto the nightstand.

"Okay, mind if I take a look at your side?" Dean asks carefully, not wanting to push him through more than he feels he can handle. Sam nods again, he leans forward and to the side a bit, exposing the area the knife wound is. Dean leans in and gently examines the area with his fingers. It would only take three stitches, four tops to get it all patched up. "You think you can tolerate a few more stitches...?" His voice is a little timid, especially for Dean. Sam can just imagine the guilt in his eyes.

"Yeah, go ahead." Sam says wearily, he's too tired to really care right now. Plus, it can't be as bad as the last round of needlework Dean laid out all over his back. Dean nods and stands, grabbing his first aid kit he had set on the nightstand from last time. If he doesn't pick this up again in a year, it will still be too soon. He also grabs a prescription pill bottle that holds their stash of the good stuff, and he shakes two pills out and hands them to Sam along with his glass of water.

Sam takes the pills and doesn't even put up a fight, knocking them back into his mouth and swallowing them with the last of the water in his glass. Dean puts the glass back onto the nightstand and sits down next to Sam. He runs some saline into the wound and cleans it gently and efficiently. He threads his needle and leans down to get closer to the wound. "You ready?"

Sam nods and takes a deep breath. Dean pushes the needle and thread through quickly, with steady hands. He feels Sam's back tense up and his breath intake sharply, but Sam doesn't make a peep. He draws the edges of skin together and ties it. He moves onto the next, doing the same, and finally the third. It takes him less than five minutes. After he's done he tapes a strip of gauze over the stitches, stands and grabs the now empty glass of water on the nightstand. He heads into the bathroom, fills it up again, and brings it back to Sam, still sitting on the edge of the bed. He hands Sam the glass and stands over him, watching as he drinks half the glass and hands the rest back over to Dean. Dean sets it back on the nightstand within Sam's reach as Sam turns and rolls onto his stomach in the bed and tries to get comfortable. Dean grabs the TV remote from his bed and moves over to the opposite side of Sam's bed. He proceeds to climb onto the bed and scoots next to Sam's prone body, slouching his shoulders and back against the headboard.

Sam raises his gaze to Dean for the first time since he helped him from the bathroom, his tired eyes looking confused. Dean tries to have his 'tough guy' smirk on his face, but the gentle smile he usually reserves for Sam shows through. "Shut up. Get some sleep..." After a moment of thought, Sam curls onto his side and rests his head on Dean's stomach like he used to do when he was five. Dean feels his eyes moisten, finally feeling useful to his little brother he would do anything for. His smile grows and he tilts his chin, resting his head against the headboard to keep the moisture in his eyes from flowing over. He needs to be strong for his brother. He gently drapes his arm protectively around Sam's back and rests it on his exposed shoulder, his skin still warmer than Sam's clammy pale skin underneath. Sam nestles in and his breathing evens out.

o0o0o0o

The next few days are spent mostly the same. Sam spends most of the time in his bed recovering. Dean hardly leaves his side, keeping a watchful eye over his brother while he sleeps. He keeps the nightmares at bay, waking Sam up when he gets too volatile. Dean dozes on and off during his sentinel but never for too long, and always right next to Sam. Dean orders out for pizza and takeout, not daring to leave Sam alone for more than a few moments.

Day by day, Sam grows in strength and the pallor of his skin starts to return to a more normal color. His energy level is increasing and his lethargy lessening. Dean is satisfied with the progress of Sam's healing, the wounds held together by the stitches were coming together nicely.

Finally, after day five, evening rolls around and both of the Winchester brothers were stir crazy with cabin fever. Sam comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed and clean after a shower. He is looking much better, though still not 100%. His back still smarts when he moves too fast and his arm still feels sore but he's a lot more mobile than he has been. He looks to Dean who is sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching Armageddon for the third time in four days, his eyes unfocused and drooping. He looks very tired. Sam clears his throat and Dean sits up and looks at Sam as he moves around the bed and starts to put shoes on for the first time in almost a week. "Well, where do you think you're going?"

Sam glances over to Dean, then back down to his shoes as he laces them up. "I, uh... I was thinking we could get out of here. Maybe grab a bite to eat or something. I just need to get out for a bit. And I'm sure it would do you some good too..." He stands back up and straightens his shirt. He looks at Dean expectedly.

Dean looks from Sam to the TV, points the remote towards the TV and hits the power button. He slaps his palms on his knees and stands up. "Sounds like a plan." He moves past Sam and grabs his jacket from the desk. "You sure you're feeling up to this tonight?"

Sam nods. He grabs his own jacket and puts it on carefully. He gives Dean his best reassuring smile. "Let's get out of here."

o0o0o0o0o

After driving for about fifteen minutes, they find a local diner that is still open. They pull up front and Dean shuts the engine off in the Impala. They climb out of the car and head into the diner. Dean heads over to a booth in the far corner with Sam in tow. They sit down across from each other and each grab a menu from a pile at the end of the table. The waitress comes over after a few minutes to take their orders. "I'll have the biscuits and gravy, side of scrambled eggs and bacon. And coffee." Dean orders first.

"I'll have the short stack with bacon. Coffee for me too, please." Sam gives her a smile. She smiles back, "Sure thing honey. I'll be right back with those coffees." She walks off to go put their orders in.

Dean glances around the diner, taking in his surroundings. Him and Sam the only customers here aside from an older gentleman reading a newspaper at the counter. The waitress and cook the only others present as the clock on the wall ticks closer to midnight. Dean turns and his rests his back against the wall. The waitress comes around again with two mugs of coffee, dropping it off at the table and heads back behind the counter and into the kitchen. The brothers add sugar and cream, then sit in silence, sipping from their mugs. Sam finally looks to Dean and breaks the silence. "So... what next? What's our plan for killing this thing?"

Dean stirs his coffee around the mug, looking down at it. He sighs and looks back to Sam. "I don't know. Last time I went for it, it wasn't solid enough. It was there, I felt it with the knife... just, not enough. Is it still in your dreams?" He takes another sip of coffee, the caffeine already waking up his drowsy brain.

Sam nods and looks down to his coffee, both of his large hands overlapping around the mug. He enjoys the feeling of warmth the coffee gives off. "Yeah... it's still there. I know it's been feeding while I have slept too, like it gets a snack here and there. I think it's getting more and more irritated that it can't really get the chance to do what it wants in my dreams... You've waken me before it really gets a hold on me." He looks back up at Dean, an unspoken thank you on his face. "I think it's scared of you."

Dean snickers, grinning a little. "Damn right the nightmare bitch is scared of me. Maybe it does have 'higher intelligence'..."

Sam smiles, rolls his eyes and shakes his head. The waitress comes out of the kitchen carrying their hot plates and sets their food in front of them respectively. "Anything else you boys need?" They both shake their heads and she heads off to the kitchen once more.

The brothers dig into their food, both hungry and sick of pizza and takeout. The diner food is actually pretty decent for a hole in the wall. The man at the counter leaves after a while and they are left alone in the seating area, the waitress heads out herself for her third smoke break since they got there.

Sam scoots out of the bench and stands. Dean watches him, "Hey, where you going? I'm not done yet."

"Relax Dean, I'm going into the bathroom."

"You want me to come with?" Dean asks, munching on his last slice of crispy bacon.

Sam smirks. "I think I'll be fine..."

"Okay. Five minutes though. Anything more, and I'm coming in." Dean says seriously. Sam nods, turns, and heads through the doors dedicated to the men's room.

The bathroom is relatively clean considering it is a public restroom. The floor is tiled with the same egg shell blue as the walls. There are two stalls, a urinal, and two sinks connected by a white counter top with a wide mirror stretching the length of the counter. Sam moves to the urinal, unzips and relieves himself. He zips back up and moves to the sink and proceeds to wash his hands. He shuts off the sink and looks up into the mirror.

He catches a glimpse of yellow and does a double take as his eyes lock onto the yellow eyes staring at him from above the nearest stall. He takes in a sudden breath and starts to call for Dean, but only gets a short "De-" out of his mouth before the Caeca leaps off the stall and slams into him, pushing him up against the counter and wraps her clawed hand around his throat, preventing him from calling out again. Standing upright, she is just shy of Dean's height. Her long sinewy arms are stronger than they look and she lifts Sam by the throat as he chokes and gasps for breath. She heaves him to the side and he goes crashing into the tiled wall opposite the door. He hits back first and pain shoots all over his back, knowing he probably ruptured some stitches at impact.

He rolls to his knees and coughs, gasping and tries to stand but she is on him before he knows it. She grabs him by his neck again and lifts him almost effortlessly so he's pinned against the wall at eye level. He struggles to dislodge her hand from his neck but he feels like he's pulling at an iron rod pinning him to the wall. As he pulls, she just squeezes until her claws shallowly pierce his neck. He stops struggling and focuses mainly on breathing and staying conscious.

She leans in as she sees the fight start to leave his eyes, moving her purple lips up to his face. He can feel her breath on him and to his disgust, she leans in and kisses him on the lips. He tries to shrink back against the wall and turn his head, but he's already as far back as he can manage without going right through the wall and with her hand around his throat he finds he doesn't have any movement of his head. She pulls back from her kiss and gives him what he would assume was a coy smile, though it looks demented with her sharp teeth showing from beneath her lips.

With her free hand, she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it down, exposing his collar bone and part of his chest. Sam can't see what's going on but he shudders as he feels her long disgusting tongue move down his neck and over his exposed skin. She whispers to him, "You taste so good... Your pain is exquisite and full..." Suddenly he feels her teeth bite into his chest right by his collar bone.

He tries to scream but can only manage a strangled sob as her hand still cuts off his airway. He gasps for breath as his chest burns from where her teeth punctured his flesh, and he can feel her pointed tongue eagerly lapping at the pain that must be emanating from her bite. Sam can feel the venom from her teeth coursing through his chest like needles and he struggles again and tries hopelessly to pry her away from him. She seems to be getting stronger as he weakens, the pain and lack of oxygen to his brain starting to make his vision fuzzy.

Suddenly she screams, her body going ridged. She howls again and Sam catches a glimpse of Dean standing behind her, his own teeth bared and that feral look in his eyes he gets when he makes a kill. As Dean releases the hilt of the knife her body goes limp and she collapses backwards onto the blue tile that covers the floor.

Sam, free from her grip, slides down the wall to the floor as well, gasping for breath as he coughs, his throat burning from all the abuse it's taken. Dean moves to him quickly, holding him upright and examining him. He pulls Sam's collar down and looks at the teeth marks in his skin, pin pricks of blood and venom leaking out where her teeth went in. He holds Sam's head up and examines the marks on his throat, Sam's chest heaving as he lets Dean check him over. After Dean is satisfied knowing Sam isn't in mortal danger, he stands and grabs some paper towels from the dispenser and brings them to Sam. He presses them against Sam's chest and wipes the blood and venom away, doing the same to the shallow marks in his neck. He locks eyes with Sam, "You good?"

Sam nods and struggles to stand, using the wall for support as Dean helps pull him up. He looks to the Caeca's body on the ground as it has already started fading into oblivion. Dean bends down and grabs the knife from the floor where it fell after the body was no longer solid enough to support the weight of it standing upright. "C'mon, let's go."

o0o0o0o

After they make it back to their motel room, Dean makes Sam discard his shirt and he examines his back. There were a few broken stitches, but not enough to reopen anything too badly. Dean just cleans the area and lets it heal on its own. Sam's chest is red and swollen where she bit him but he's been bleeding the venom out and the wounds are more like thicker needle points than jagged tears, so Dean is relieved he won't have to sew Sam up again. He cleans the wound like he did with Sam's back, washing out the venom as it surfaced and wiping it clean. He does the same with the scratches along Sam's neck as well, they thankfully are pretty much surface wounds.

Sam hisses as Dean wipes, the stinging in his chest slowly dying down as the venom exits his body, but he remembers the constant pain that will haunt him for days afterwards. After Dean is satisfied that most of the venom has bleed out, he presses a gauze pad firmly onto the wound. "Hold this. Lots of pressure." He instructs.

Sam nods and places his hand over the gauze. Dean stands and moves to the bathroom, washing his brass knife in the sink until it is free from Sam's blood from earlier, and the blade shines like new. He brings Sam some more water and Sam drinks it down gratefully. Dean packs up the first aid kit and the knife, smiling to himself. Ding dong, the bitch is dead. He sits on the edge of his bed and faces Sam. Sam looks up to meet his gaze. "You know, you sure have funny taste in women..." Dean starts, a slight smile playing across his face.

Sam smiles through the pain in his eyes. "You're just jealous she had a hard on for me instead of you for a change."

"Hey, I attract the normal, _human_, women... you're the one that's like the supernatural chick magnet." Dean grins at his brother, "You're going to have the hugest hickey in the morning..."

Sam sniggers and tosses his bloody gauze at Dean, who bats it away, still grinning. "Jerk"

"Bitch."

Both of them were going to sleep well tonight.

* * *

Let me know what you think! My first story ever! Maybe I'll write more with some encouragement. ;) Thanks for reading!


End file.
